by E. M. Snow
I almost laugh, because it’s such a Saint thing to say.
We walk for some time in silence, and it almost seems as if we’ve come to a kind of truce, but I’m not dumb enough to believe it’s that simple.
“You must be a fucking moron to try and face down those two dipshits,” he scoffs at last, ending the hush between us. “I probably should’ve let them do what they wanted. Maybe it’d have taught you to keep your nose out of things that aren’t your business.”
I jab my tongue in my cheek, processing what he just said. “You would have let them rape me?” I rasp after a long pause. His jaw clenches, and out of my peripherals, I see his fists tighten too. Instead of telling him that I know he’s full of shit, I continue in a low voice, “They were going to hurt someone. Badly. I couldn’t just stand by and let them do what I think they were going to do. What I … think they did to Nick Reynolds last year.”
He stops walking just so he can stare me down with wide eyes that gradually narrow as he processes what I’ve just said. Carving his fingers through his blond hair, he gives his head a jerky shake. “You have a savior complex or something? Bad things happen, Ellis, that’s life. And the worst part? You’re fucking small.”
“I—” I start, but he keeps going, completely ignoring me.
“You’re what? Five feet, a hundred pounds, soaking wet? You. Can’t. Save. Everyone.”
I look up at him, stunned. “I know that, fucker, and I’m five-foot-one, for your dickwad information. I wasn’t talking about saving people. I was talking about stopping a literal crime from happening,” I say even as the voice in my head reminds me of all the ones I’ve committed.
Thank god Saint can’t read minds.
Instead, he sends mine into panic mode when he cups my chin and drags my focus up to his eyes. “You really think those two would be held accountable for that shit? Jon Eric’s crazy bitch mom will probably be president one day and you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you knew some of the people Finnegan’s dad has defended. Those two have never been held accountable before, and they won’t be any time soon.”
He’s right, I realize, but I know he hasn’t ever been held accountable either. He, Jon Eric, and Finnegan all live in a world I just don’t understand, where they can do horrible things to people and no one bats an eye, and everyone continues to worship them. It’s infuriating, and even though I know Saint would never do the things Jon Eric and Finnegan have done, he’s far from innocent.
Just look at everything he’s done to me.
Why though? Why me?
I want to ask, but I know now’s not the time. He’s already defensive and has shown too much mercy by saving me. I doubt I’ll get anymore from him tonight.
Still, he surprises me when he strokes his thumb over the center of my lips, husks out, “Stop putting yourself in danger, my silly little masochist,” then releases me.
We reach my building a few minutes later and I linger at the door, wondering if I should say anything more. I’ve already thanked him, and he shot that down. He stands and waits for me to do something, his brow furrowed with irritation.
“Well, thanks again, I guess,” I finally say, and know it’s lame.
“Whatever,” he growls, turning to go. “Just go to bed. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
His response is grating. I release a huff of breath and yank the door of my building open. Stepping inside, I pause, letting it fall shut behind me as I watch him walk away through the glass.
I don’t go to my room. Instead, I go straight to Loni’s. I have to tell her what I’ve figured out about Nick’s attack, and it won’t wait until morning.
Reaching her door, I raise my fist and bang on it, not caring if I’m disturbing the entire floor. It’s only a few moments before it opens and Loni is standing on the threshold in a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her curls, staring at me with huge brown eyes as Dorito rubs against her bare leg.
“Mal? What’s wrong? Why are you pounding on my door like that?”
I push her back into her room and shut the door behind me.
“Loni, something just happened, and I think I’ve figured out something major.”
She blinks, and I may be overwhelming her with my manic energy.
“What did you figure out?” she demands. “What happened?”
I grab her hand and pull her to her bed, sitting down and urging her to join me. Once she’s settled, I take a deep breath and launch into my story.
“I was supposed to meet Liam at the library for our English project, but while I was searching for him, I stumbled on Jon Eric and Finnegan. They were … they were tormenting a freshman. I think he was a football player.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, using the edge of her towel to wipe a trickle of water from her temple.
“I interrupted them, and they turned on me…”
“Oh my God! Are you all right?”
I nod. “I wasn’t, not really, but then Saint saved me—”
“Saint!” Her eyes are saucers. Of course, this would be the most shocking thing to her so far.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, he’s not the focus right now.”
“If Saint Angelle saving you isn’t the focus of your story, what the fuck is?”
I grab her shoulders and look her straight in the eye. “Loni, listen to me. I don’t think Saint attacked Nick. I think Jon Eric and Finnegan did.”
She lets out a gasp and her face drains of color again. “What? What makes you think that?”
“It was the way they were going after this kid. The things they”—I haul in a deep breath before I continue—"planned to do to him. It was the same stuff you said had happened to Nick.”
She’s silent for a long beat, and I don’t know if she’s understood exactly what I’ve said or not.
“Loni? Are you okay?”
“So … Brandon wasn’t protecting Saint. He was protecting those assholes?”
“I think so,” I reply in a soft voice.
Her eyes suddenly flash with fury, and I’m a little startled. She looks murderous as she leaps to her feet, pacing her room. “Oh god. It all makes sense. I mean, I’ve always wondered why he’d protect Saint, of all the people, and—” Fisting her hands, she tugs in a shaky breath and starts for the door. “I’m going to kill that fucker.”
Instinct has me chasing after her. I throw myself against the door to keep her from storming out into the hall.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find Bran, cut his balls off, and shove them down his throat!”
I hold up my hands and shake my head frantically.
“No, no, bad idea.” I think of Jon Erin and Finnegan, and what they might do to the two of us if we start spreading word that they’re responsible for Nick’s attack. We need a plan before we can throw that information around. “Take a breath, Loni. You’re not thinking straight right now. Plus, you’re in a bathrobe.”
“Says the girl who punched Twatiana while wearing a towel,” she points out angrily. Closing her eyes, she takes a few seconds before she softly demands, “Do you know how terrible it’s been for Henry and his family?” There are tears in her eyes when she looks at me again, and it breaks my heart.
“I can’t possibly know,” I say softly. “But I can only imagine it’s been hell.”
“And Brandon knew! He knew, and he didn’t say anything. All this time I stupidly thought he was keeping his mouth shut because he was scared of Saint, not because he was worried about his precious football team.”
“I know, I know.” I take hold of her shoulders and usher her back to the bed. “It’ll be okay. We can figure this out. You just need to breathe.”
I coach her through some deep breaths until she’s calmed down enough that we can talk more rationally.
“What do we do, Mal?” she murmurs, laying her head on my shoulder.
I release a heavy sigh and shake my head
. “I’m not sure yet. We need to really think about this, okay? Don’t do anything crazy until we have a plan.”
She looks hesitant to agree, but finally, she nods.
“All right. Until we have a plan.”
I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight, hoping to reassure her that everything’s going to be all right, even if I’m not sure I believe that myself.
The next day, things are very strange. When I’m working in the dining hall for my detention after breakfast, I’m petrified when Jon Eric suddenly walks in. He spots me and freezes, and I feel my stomach pitch, but not because I’m afraid of him.
No, it’s because his face is so messed up.
He looks like he was in a car crash or something. His skin is covered in ugly dark bruises, his bottom lip is split, and one of his eyes is swollen shut.
What the hell happened?
He gazes around frantically, as if he’s searching for something.
“Slut,” he snaps from across the room, but he looks scared out of his mind as he says it. Before I can get a word in edgewise, he takes off back into the hall again.
I’m stunned.
What the fuck was that?
Things only get weirder from there.
I arrive in English class to find Liam sitting in the seat next to my usual one. With hesitant steps, I make my way over to him and frown when he grins at me as though he’s amused.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
He cocks his head and drags his brown eyes over me. “Nothing. You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
I settle into my seat next to him and shoot him a dark look.
“What’re you talking about?”
He shrugs, that funny little smile never leaving his face.
“Sorry I didn’t make it last night,” he says, side-stepping my question.
I want to press him to reveal what he meant, but I decide against it. He’s talking to me, and not glaring. I need to take these wins as they come to me.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, turning to dig out my textbook so he doesn’t see how really not okay I am. It’s not his fault, I know that. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that he didn’t show up last night, and Jon Eric and Finnegan were there. “Saint let me know.”
He leans closer, twisting his head to try and make eye-contact with me even as I attempt to avoid it.
“He told me what those guys tried to do to you,” he says, his tone so gentle, I’m stunned. “If I’d been there, they’d have never dared touch you.”
I finally turn my eyes to him, and my breath catches because, to my shock, sincerity shines behind his dark stare. Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s … okay. Luckily, Saint showed up when he did and scared them off.”
He stares at me intently for several moments more, and it’s a little unnerving. Finally, he releases a low noise that sounds like a growl and slams back in his chair.
“We should reschedule,” he grumbles. “Tonight work for you?”
I want to sigh in relief that he’s letting the subject of last night drop.
“It’s Friday,” I point out, which earns me a “so what?”
Dear baby Jesus, the boy is moody. “Fine, tonight it is. Library again?” The thought fills me with dread, but I force a neutral expression to hide my distress.
Thankfully, Liam shakes his head. “My family’s got a beach house not too far from campus. I’d rather go there, where no one will bother us.”
I’m intrigued by the idea, and honestly, would rather work anywhere else than the library right now. Even the den of one of the gods is preferable to that place because, for the first time in months, I hadn’t dreamt about blood and fire.
I’d dreamt about books. Books and suffocation.
“All right, that sounds good.” I nod and smile.
He goes back to ignoring me as the class begins, and I go back to pretending I hate him.
Later, in gym class, the strangest thing of all happens when Saint walks into class with a bandaged hand and a deep scowl that he directs at me.
When I ask him what happened, he only sneers at me.
Go figure.
14
The remainder of my Friday is like any other day, but I’m distracted as I sit through classes, because I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening later. Tonight, I’m supposed to go to Liam’s house, and the thought fills me with equal parts excitement and anxiety. It’s not because I like him (I don’t think), even though he’s super-hot and even a little charming when he’s not glaring at me like I swapped his Seether playlist with Taylor Swift’s greatest hits.
No, I’m excited and nervous because it feels like we could, potentially, be friends.
Best friends?
Unlikely.
Good enough friends that he stops making my life a living hell?
Possibly.
There’s enough of a chance, anyway, that I don’t want to do anything to mess things up between us.
I’m supposed to meet him in an hour, and I’m trying to decide what I should wear. I’ve rejected several outfits already and am contemplating just a casual sweatshirt and leggings combo when a frantic knock on my door breaks me from my concentration.
Frowning, I hurry across the room to see who it could be.
As soon as I open the door, Loni bursts inside in a wild mess of curls and flailing arms.
“You’ll never guess what I just heard!” she shrieks.
I quickly shut the door and spin to face her with wide eyes.
“What?” I ask, overwhelmed by her energy and expression of excitement.
“Someone snitched!”
I furrow my brow, utterly confused. “Snitched? Snitched about what?”
She reaches out and grabs my hands in hers.
“Someone on the football team anonymously reported to the administration that Jon Eric and Finnegan were the ones who attacked Nick last year.”
My jaw drops. “No fucking way!”
Loni nods. “Yeah, Henry just told me this afternoon.”
“Oh, my God, that’s amazing!” I declare. “What’s going to happen? Are Jon Eric and Finnegan getting expelled?”
When her beautiful face falls, it feels like a punch to my gut.
“So far, they say there’s not enough proof to take any action against them,” she hisses. “Which is a load of shit, but they’ve been suspended from the football team for the rest of the season.”
“Which has, what? One or two more games?”
“Like I said,” she says with a nod, “bullshit.”
It is bullshit, and I’m pissed but at least it’s out there that Jon Eric and Finnegan were the culprits. Now, Loni and I don’t have to carry the burden of revealing that truth on our own shoulders. If nothing else, it’ll make people start questioning Jon Eric and Finnegan more closely and put all the focus on proving them guilty.
And Saint innocent.
The thought pops into my head, taking me by surprise. Why should I care about him right now? This is about Nick and his justice, not Saint. He likely wouldn’t have faced consequences anyway, had it actually been him.
But that’s not really what matters, not if he was innocent.
I press my hand to my chest and try to suppress the sympathy rising up inside of me for him, as well as the relief at knowing he’s not the true monster I thought him to be.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
“Mal? Are you okay?” Loni asks me, her expression concerned.
I drop my hand and paste on a reassuring smile. “I am, I swear. Just a little overwhelmed by everything I guess.”
She doesn’t look like she necessarily believes me, but I gaze at her innocently until she rolls her eyes and chuckles.
“Fine, if you say so.” Turning, she skips to my bed and takes a seat, crossing her long legs. “Tell me, what’s up with the fashion show?”
She glances around at the clothes I have scattered around my
room.
“Well, there’s something I haven’t told you,” I confess. She has no idea I’ve been having late-night swim sessions with Liam. I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but it’s starting to feel weird keeping it from her.
“Okayyyyy,” she says, her brow furrowing.
“So … I’m going to Liam Halloway’s beach house tonight.”
Loni’s reaction is instant and loud. “What the hell? Why are you hanging out with Liam? At his beach house? On a Friday? Just the two of you?”
I raise my hands, as if I’m warding off a wild animal.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy tiger. We have an English project together, so we’re meeting up to work on it. Remember? That’s why I was in the library last night.”
She puffs out a breath, then laughs. “Oh. Is that all?”
“Well, not exactly…”
Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“So, here’s the thing. For a few weeks now, I’ve been sneaking into the pool at night to swim, and some of those nights … Liam’s been there, too.”
“Woman.” Her eyes go wide. “Are you telling me that you and Liam Halloway have been having late-night swim sessions together on the reg? Like, with him shirtless and you in a bikini?”
I groan. “I wear a one-piece most nights, but yeah, something like that.”
“Whatever.” Loni waves that away. “You’re both still alone, half-naked in the pool.”
“It’s not like that.”
She gives me a disbelieving look.
“Really!” I insist. “Neither of us had any idea the other would show up there, but we kind of just let it be.”
She seems to consider that for a moment before she raps her fingertip against her chin. “So, are you like friends now or something?”
A more complicated question than Loni could really know. I consider my answer very carefully before I speak.
“I-I wouldn’t call us friends just yet. More like, friends adjacent.”
Her finger-tapping stops and she simply blinks at me, her lips thinning in a tight line. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”
I don’t really either, to be fair, but it sounds better than saying we’re friends.
